Chapter 3 Bloodlines and broken truths

The ancient woods of Brezan whispered Maxine's name again.

She didn't know if it was the wind or something else, but as she trudged past the crooked trees on her way to school, the same eerie chill from the forest crept along her skin.

At the gate of Daciana High, she paused.

This place-stone walls, blood-red ivy crawling up the sides, and students who looked like they belonged in a magazine shoot for gothic royalty-was supposed to be a fresh start. But everyone here walked like they carried secrets in their bones.

Especially Aurel.

He was already leaning against the carved wolf statue near the entrance, arms folded, silver chain glinting from under his jacket. His gaze flicked toward her and narrowed, not out of curiosity, but calculation.

"You again," he said flatly.

Maxine wasn't in the mood. "If you have something to say, say it. Or maybe you're just scared."

His lips curled slightly. "Scared? Of what exactly? A girl who smells like wolf and magic?"

She froze.

"You-what did you say?"

Aurel stepped closer. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe. For now."

Before she could reply, the bell rang, a long echo like a toll of warning. Maxine pushed past him and walked into the stone halls of the school.

---

In History of the Night, the old professor-whose eyes were more shadow than sclera-spoke of the Great Blood Treaty. A time when wolves, witches, and vampires nearly wiped each other out before forming a fragile alliance.

Maxine scribbled notes until the professor said, "The Tribrid War child is a myth... or so they say."

Her pen stopped. The air around her seemed to tighten.

She glanced at Aurel across the room. He was already watching her.

---

After class, Clara, the only girl who didn't glare daggers at her, caught up with Maxine.

"You really don't know, do you?" Clara whispered, eyes darting around.

"Know what?"

"There's a prophecy. Hidden in the ruins of Bran. About a girl born of three bloods. Wolf. Vampire. Witch. They say she'll be the end of the old world."

Maxine forced a laugh. "Sounds like a bedtime story."

But her voice shook.

That night, Maxine stood in her room, staring at her reflection. Her amber eyes shimmered faintly, her fangs had started to itch again, and when she whispered a spell under her breath, the candle beside her flared to life.

She wasn't a bedtime story.

She was the warning.